Rot and Ruin
by LadyoftheMist04
Summary: So in the past year I have: lost my job? Check. Gotten kicked out of my apartment? Check. Gotten arrested for something stupid? Check. Survived the zombie apocalypse? Well, they don't call us Steel Magnolias for nothing...


Disclaimer: I do not own the Walking Dead, any of its storylines or characters.

This is a Daryl/OC fic, but I'm going to try not to make it cliche and shit, and I won't be using the 'Southern' dialect I've seen in so many other Daryl fics. He talks southern on the show, not like a dumbass redneck. I'm from the south so maybe I'm missing something, but I'll write how we speak, and how I hear him speak on the show.

Please let me know what you think, even if you think it sucks. I tried to catch all grammar and spelling errors, but please let me know if you see any. Thanks!

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**Prologue**

It was that dreaded sound of shuffling feet that woke me up.

I felt my heart squeeze and drop into my stomach, but I knew I had to look. Painstakingly slow, I inched up and peeked through the window of the camper, holding my breath the whole time. A group of about ten zombies were wandering past, some of them dragging broken legs, some of them with whole parts of their torso or faces missing. Still, they continued on, some horrible, mindless need driving them forward.

The need for living flesh.

The herd had almost passed me by at this point, and I had no desire to draw their attention to me so I inched back down and the pulled nearest blanket over me, trying to be as still as possible.

I'm not sure how long I lay like that, long enough for the sun to start creeping over the horizon at least. I peeked back through the window, but didn't see or hear anything. The sun was making a full appearance now, and as always I felt safer with the bright rays shining down on me.

Safety's just an illusion of course-zombies don't care what time of day it is, it's _always_ meal time for them. However, it's easier to see during the day; I suppose it's human instinct to take comfort in that.

I climb out of my truck, slinging my crossbow onto my back and took a few practice pulls to make sure it was in the right position for me to reach if needed. I checked the ammo on the handgun I'd picked up off a dead guy a few weeks ago and stuck it in the holster on my waist. I stick the hunting knife on my other hip, and decided to head into the woods for a bit to see if I could find some form of water to fill up my canteen with. I won't drink creek water, but I could wash off with it at least. I slip through the trees and keep my ear strained for the telltale sound of rushing, moving water.

I hate to get too far from my vehicle, so after what I feel must be an hour or more has gone by I decided to head back. According to my map there is small town about fifty miles east of the road I was on. I have just enough fuel to reach it-then I have to hope and pray I find more water and fuel. Food I have a decent supply of, but water is hard to come by and I know if I don't find some soon I'll die of dehydration.

Better than being eaten by a zombie, but still.

Suddenly I hear a rustling to my left, and I silently curse myself for getting caught up thinking about water, when I should be thinking about the more immediate threat of the flesh eating variety.

Another slight rustling, and I slowly pull the hunting knife from its sheath. I could use the gun, but noise attracts them. One shot, and ever zombie in hearing distance would come towards me. The crossbow is another possibility, but for some reason my gut tells me the knife is the way to go.

I slowly creep forward, eyes peeled for the walker that I'm sure is in the the brush. I come to other side of a large rock on the edge of the brush, and find myself face to face with an arrow.

Well.

Fuck. My. Life.

"Drop the knife."

I could only stare at him in shock.

"What the fuck? You deaf or something? I said drop the knife! _Now_!" He screamed at me, pressing the point of the arrow into my forehead. It was only then that I realized I had the large hunting knife pressed to his throat. I jerked with that realization, accidentally nicking him and causing a small trickle of blood run down his neck.

"Whoa, sorry," I said, pulling the knife away and holding my hands up in a 'surrender' gesture. He backed up a step or two, the crossbow still pointed at me.

"Where the fuck did you come from?" He snarled, looking me over. I gave him the same courtesy, and found him to be much like myself-sweaty, covered in streaks of dirt here and there, clothes kind of torn and obviously well used. His faded plaid shirt had the sleeves cut off, and his arms were big and muscled. He kinda reminded me of the rednecks I grew up with. Though I guess in Georgia maybe the word was hillbilly?

"I could ask you the same thing," I said, twirling the knife in my fingers a bit. He noticed, and lifted the bow a little higher. He nodded at the ground.

"Lay your weapons down, girl."

The shock was wearing off now and I was kinda getting pissed. I gripped the hilt of the knife tightly and shook my head.

"Have you lost your fucking mind? My daddy said the only way someone should take my weapons from me is if they are pried out of my cold, dead hands. And a good Southern girl always listens to her Daddy."

He opened his mouth to reply, but that stupid shuffling noise made us both snap to attention. While we'd been at a standoff with each other, three zombies had made their way into our part of the woods. I didn't even glance at the Hillbilly before I pulled my knife and rushed forward, jamming it in the throat of the nearest monster. The zombie just further impaled itself, still following that instinct to come forward and grab me, but a quick jerk sent its head flying. The body crumpled to the ground and I turned to see Hillbilly putting an arrow through another one's head. The third zombie was impaled against a tree, with another Hillbilly arrow sticking out of ti's forehead. . The mouth was still moving on the zombie I had killed, still trying to bite even though it had been decapitated. I wrinkled my nose in disgust and drove the blade of the knife home, into the brain.

As I jerked the blade free I saw Hillbilly pull the arrow out the zombie's head and wipe it off on his pants. Gross. Still, I walked over and jerked the arrow out of the one impaled on the tree and walked over, holding it out to him.

He gave me a wary look but took it, nodding a bit but didn't speak.

"Nice shooting," I said, nodding toward the zombies he'd taken out. He re-loaded the crossbow and nodded again.

"You ain't so bad with the knife. Do better with your bow, though."

I shrugged my shoulders and re-sheathed my weapons. "Yeah, well it belonged to my brother. I'm not as quick with as I want to be yet, and I have used knives most of my life. Instinct is to reach for it."

We were both silent after that, sizing each other up.

"You with a group or somethin'?" He finally asked, his expression hard. I shook my head.

"No. The only survivors I've seen since the apocalypse weren't the kind I wanted to be buddy-buddy with, if you know what I mean. I've got a vehicle on the road just back a few miles. You alone?"

He didn't answer, and glanced behind me. "You always so trusting of strangers?"

I raised an eyebrow and tapped my neck to indicate the cut I'd left on his throat. "You always so defensive?"

He picked up a string of squirrels I hadn't noticed before, and slung them over his shoulder. Without a word, he began walking in the direction I'd come from. I could only stare after him for a moment, before he asked, "You coming?"

I caught up to him quickly and let one hand rest on the handle of the hunting knife, just in case.

"Where are you going?"

He snorted and climbed over a dead tree trunk, not wait as I did the same.

"Gettin' your truck, then back to camp. Followin' your tracks."

I was silent for a few minutes. "So there are others besides you?"

He nodded.

Well, this could be a good thing or bad thing, depending upon what type of people this 'camp' was made up of. Still, he was the only person I'd seen in almost three weeks, and I wasn't going to pass up a chance to hook up with a bigger group. That could mean more supplies, more guns, and more information. Still, it could also slow me down.

At that thought, I snorted to myself. Slow me down where? There was nowhere to go. And even if there was, there would be no guarantee there was anyone else alive _anywhere._

Sigh. Looks like I'm following the Hillbilly into the unknown.

Yeehaw.


End file.
